


Ricochet

by bakedgoldfish



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-05
Updated: 2003-04-05
Packaged: 2019-05-15 05:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14784497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakedgoldfish/pseuds/bakedgoldfish
Summary: Like a bullet returning to the gunman, they came back to each other.





	Ricochet

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Ricochet**

**by:** Baked Goldfish

**Category(s):** Leo/Jenny, some Leo/Jordon, angst  
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  Please don't sue. If you sued me, all you'd get is some granola and college textbooks.  
**Summary:** Like a bullet returning to the gunman, they came back to each other.  


He kissed the smooth skin of her left shoulder, and lamplight sparkled off a drop of sweat that was making its way down her neck.  "We're supposed to be divorced," he murmured before catching that offending droplet with his tongue. 

She pushed her lips to his, effectively silencing him.  "It's okay," she whispered back, her mouth still brushing close to his as she ran her hand over the small of his back. 

Later, when he woke up in the morning, she was already gone.  

[-----] 

"It's Christmas Eve," he told Jordon, shrugging slightly.  She smiled fleetingly, and he almost returned it.  They left separately; she headed to her law offices, and he headed to the White House.  The roads were quiet, and the sidewalks were nearly deserted.  In certain parts of the city, it looked like a ghost town. 

A half-hour later, he received a phone call in his office.  "McGarry," he said, clearing the tears out of his throat.  

"Leo?"  The concern in her voice was clear over the tinny, distant reception, and he straightened in his seat as if that would allay her fears. 

"Yeah?" 

She paused, almost audibly collecting her thoughts.  "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing," he said, and he mentally kicked himself for saying it too quickly.  "I'm okay." 

She let it drop, because she's known him long enough to know that pushing him would just get him angry.  So instead of pushing, she asked, "What're you doing tomorrow?" 

He wanted to tell her that he had plans, almost; but he could almost feel her caressing his cheek over the phone line.  He closed his eyes, and traced the spot just below his right temple where he thought he'd felt the ghost of her touch.  "Why?" 

"I don't want you to be alone," she answered, and he thought he heard a truthful sadness in her voice. 

"I-"  It would hurt Jordon if he changed plans, and he liked Jordon, but this was a sure thing, maybe.  He licked his lips, and the lines on his forehead deepened as he tried to figure out what to do. 

"Okay," he said. 

[-----] 

"You know, we never do talk anymore," Bartlet stated glibly, puffing on his second cigarette of the night. 

Leo gave him a skeptical sidelong glance.  "Weren't you the one just telling me to just sit here and be quiet?" 

"Yeah, but the snow's so nice, I just thought we should talk." 

Shaking his head, Leo replied, "Sir, with all due respect, that made about as much sense as a soup sandwich." 

"When the hell'd you start saying things like 'soup sandwich'?" Bartlet scoffed. 

"I blame Margaret," Leo muttered. 

"You blame Margaret for everything," Bartlet countered. 

Again, Leo shook his head as he continued to watch the falling snow.  They sat there for a few moments longer before Bartlet asked, "So?" 

Leo frowned at him.  "So what?" 

"So what's going on in your life?" Bartlet asked.  "You know what's going on in mine, after all.  It's only fair to share." 

He absently rubbed the back of his neck and looked away.  "Nothing, really." 

"How's Jordon?" 

His head snapped around, and he glared at the President.  "I'm not sure it's any of your business, but she's fine, sir." 

Bartlet shrugged and looked at the snowflakes; he tapped his cigarette and watched as the ashes fell to the ground, melting a tiny bit of already fallen snow.  "You know, women don't like to be played.  It's not nice to be the girl on the side, is what I'm saying." 

For a long time, Leo just stared at him.  "Jordon's not \- she's not some-" 

"Well, you gotta make a choice, man."  Jed stared at him, defiant. 

Leo returned the stare's intensity tenfold.  "I don't think this is any of your business." 

"Yeah, well, I don't think my being censured by Congress for my genetic makeup is any of your business, but we all know how that worked out," Bartlet quipped.  

"That's diff - Jordon's not a-"  Leo sighed, weary and frustrated.  "Look.  Let's just sit here and be quiet, okay?" 

Jed shrugged.  "Gotta make a choice.  I know you still love her, but ... " 

Leo stared out at the falling snow, not quite seeing the flakes against the dark of night. 

[-----] 

"I don't think so," she said. 

"Jordon-" 

"Leo, it's not working, and you know it," she interrupted.  Her face was hard, as was her voice, but at the last second, her regret and frustration leaked out.  "You've got too much baggage." 

"I-"  He stared at her, dumbfounded.  "Wait, you knew my job would come - you knew my job would always come first!" 

Resigned, she sighed.  "I'm not talking about that.  Just - Look at you, Leo, you still wear a wedding ring." 

He glanced at his left hand before clenching his fingers together self-consciously.  "It doesn't mean anything," he said, but it was a lie, and they both knew it.  "I'd been wearing it for decades, I can't just take it off-" 

She shook her head, sadly.  "It's over," she told him, her voice soft and sullen.  "Go back to her, or find someone else to mess around with, because I'm just not into this kind of thing." 

"What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice sounding weak in his ears.  "It's been two years since-" 

"It could have been twenty, and you'd still be like this," she said, walking out the door.  "Goodbye, Leo." 

"Fine," he muttered.  He waited a moment after the door slammed shut before he walked to his bedroom.  

In the apartment beside his, he could hear his newlywed-neighbors laughing.  He lay down and tried to ignore them. 

[-----] 

"You know, you're damn lucky Scott isn't here tonight," she said, aggravated, as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest? 

"I can't keep doing this," he stated.  He tried to regard her with a detached air, but he knew his uncertainty showed through.  He was still in the wool coat he'd walked in with, his scarf stylishly useless under the collar, and he'd tracked melting snow into the foyer of what used to be their house.  She was looking down at him from the top of the staircase, and he remembered their last night together in this house.  He remembered it the same as he remembered it every other night of his life.  

"What do you want from me?" she asked, her initial frustration blending with resignation as she descended the stairs. 

"Make a choice," he said.  He was stuck to the spot, as if the moisture below his finely shined Italian shoes had frozen to the polished wood floorboards, and it was like he was a ghost looking on from above when she brushed her fingertips against the cool skin of his face.  "Take me back, or let me go," he said; it came out weaker than he'd wanted it to.  

"I can't take you back," she said, thumbing away a bit of snow that had melted on his cheek.  "I wouldn't be able to come second to your job." 

"I can't keep doing this," he repeated, but her touch was making him dizzy.  He could almost feel his faculties leaving him as he put his lips to the inside of her palm; he had never felt this way about anyone else, and never could.  He might as well have been still married to her, since he knew he'd never be with anyone else.  He kissed her and let his tongue slide past her lips as he felt what little fragile armor he had left fall away. 

Her hands tugged on his.  "Come upstairs." 

"No," he said, shaking his head and pulling her out the door.  He wanted to tell her she could better escape from his apartment than their house; he wanted to be bitter.  Instead, he said, "It's too quiet up there." 

Later, he held her in his arms, but he was the one who felt like a rag doll.  Weakly, as if he were underwater, he spread his fingers across her stomach; she was more beautiful than ever, even more beautiful than when he'd met her forty years before, and he watched in detached wonder as she shifted closer to his touch.  A car passed outside, and he watched the pale skin of her stomach contrast against the rough and age-darkened skin of the back of his hand.  She seemed to be asleep, and he took the opportunity to press a kiss onto her forehead.  She didn't move closer, but neither did she move further away, and he smiled into her hair. 

"I love you," he whispered.  Her breathing changed slightly, and he wondered if she was feigning slumber. 

[-----] 

She'd heard him.  She had barely been drifting off when he'd said it, and his words brought her back to consciousness; she refused to let him know that, though.  It would be easier on him, less awkward, if he thought she was asleep. 

She stayed awake until the dawn, watching him as he slept and hating herself because it wasn't just a one-time thing, never had been and never would be with him.  She was bringing him back in only to throw him back out again, and she could barely stand it.  She almost wanted to echo his words, but she couldn't be second to anything anymore.  She knew if she took him back forever, she'd be second to his work, and she would end up hating him. 

She never wanted to hate him; so, when the sun began to rise, she quietly crawled out of bed and put her clothes back on. 

[-----] 

And later, when he woke up, she was already gone. 

-end- 


End file.
